


Fade Into You

by spacemonkey



Category: U2
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mutually Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 15:32:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9078823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey/pseuds/spacemonkey
Summary: When it rained Edge could usually drift right off, lulled to sleep by the sound and the smell, but it was late and he was wide awake, staring through the darkness until he could almost pretend he wasn’t alone.Set in 1994.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this isn't Nexus and I'm terribly sad about that, but here we are. I do want to apologize for not being around as much, I've not been very well these past couple of months at all and between that and the medication I was put on making me feel like a zombie, I've not had the energy to do much of anything, least of all write. But I thought I'd write a happy little ditty today, just to make myself feel better and get me back into the swing of things. Well... I planned to write something happy, but it seems I forgot exactly who I am, so here we are, with this not happy little thing. Enjoy?
> 
> Title comes from Fade Into You by Mazzy Star, which I suppose is somewhat of an inspiration for this fic...

With the window open, he could smell it. Petrichor. A combination of two Greek words:  _ petra _ , meaning stone, and  _ ichor _ , that of which flowed through the veins of the gods, of immortal beings; an ethereal fluid that put them above all the mere mortals down below. Sometimes, Edge had wondered if that same fluid coursed through Bono’s body, helping to create the very essence that was  _ he _ , his best friend, a man who defied death on a regular basis, who didn’t quite seem real at times, or possible, or normal, until a time when Edge saw him fall, saw him bleed - a deep red that trickled from the palm of his hand, flecked with gravel - reminding Edge that, yes, they were one and the same. 

Mostly.

It had been a warm day, a warm week, capping off a warm month, and it had been most unseasonable. He couldn’t recall a single spot of rain for those weeks, and that in itself had been the strangest thing of all, and when he had looked out his window from time to time and saw the sun shining down, Edge had wished for something different. It wasn’t right for the world to be so bright, not at such a time when he could only look out the window and feel contempt for the birds singing their little songs.

Petrichor. How and when he had learned the word, he wasn’t sure, but it was all he could think at such a time. The smell of rain, different to that of ozone, more earthy, more warm, coming about after a bout of dryness.

He remembered being in school on one of those unseasonably warm days, when it had rained in the morning and calmed after lunch, and he had found himself sitting by the open window and just drifting away from the sound of Mrs. O’Reilly’s voice until he was calm, calmer than he could ever remember being in his life, and if he were a different person he might have climbed out that window and lost himself entirely, but as it was, he had just been content to sit there and dream.

With the window open, he could smell it. The scent,  _ petrichor _ , drifting on through, a steady patter against the roof, easing off compared to how it had been not five minutes earlier, but Edge could see right through the ruse. They were heading toward a storm. He was sure of it.

Usually when it rained he could drift right off, lulled to sleep by the sound and the smell, but it was late and he was wide awake, staring through the darkness until he could almost pretend he wasn’t alone. With his arm stretched out against the sheets, missing her, missing them, missing - just  _ missing _ , and it wasn’t enough. It could never be.

Outside, he stayed warm and dry beneath the safety of the veranda, smoking a cigarette as he watched the rain coming down, anticipating the first streak of lightning in a way that left him feeling giddy. There was not a single light he could see but for his own, and they were all smart people, in their beds at such a time.

It wasn’t long before there was a crack, a rumble, and  _ there _ . A burst of light, cutting through the darkness, reminding him that he wasn’t alone. 

“God’s got his camera out again,” Bono had said once, his eyes shining bright as he had pointed at the sky, and the smile on his face had brought out the child in the both of them. “Smile and wave, Edge, we might just end up on his mantlepiece.”

Edge had smiled, waved to the sky and felt like an idiot, but it had been worth it. Even when he’d ended up soaked to the bone and tracking wet footsteps through the house, shivering and shaking as he’d peeled the clothes from his frame before stepping under the hot stream, where his thoughts had wandered and he’d been dragged toward sweet temptation. It had been worth it. 

The thunder rolled, deeper, longer this time until he could feel it in his chest, and before the lightning could strike again his gaze was drawn to a different sort of light, lower and more persistent, closing in on him until he could no longer pretend it was a hallucination. 

Edge lit another cigarette and stayed seated, an illusion of calm as long as he didn’t look too closely.

He would, though. Bono always did.

Walking through the haze of rain like a spectral being, he emerged looking ghastly, his face pale and his hair plastered to his forehead, but he was smiling. “I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “Do you ever get the feeling that you’re meant to be somewhere else?”

Yes, Edge thought, all the time. He didn’t say that, though; instead, he gestured to the bottle of champagne in Bono’s hand, more than a little curious as he asked, “What’s that for?”

“I’m on my way to launch a ship.” The bottle was set down on the table, looking expensive and aged, and there was that look on Bono’s face, even as he scrubbed the rain from his beard. “What the hell do you think it’s for, Edge?”

“It’s one in the morning.”

“It’s far later than that,” Bono said with a wave of his hand, “and neither of us are going to sleep any time soon, so.”

“How do you know I’m not?”

“Because you’re not.”

“But how do you know?”

“Because I do,” Bono said simply, and Edge couldn’t argue with that. “How’s the house?”

It wasn't a question Edge had been anticipating, and he let out a little laugh before answering. “Good, yeah, it’s - I’ve finally gotten everything unpacked and where it’s supposed to be, so it’s . . .” he trailed off with a sigh. “It’s big and empty.”

Bono nodded. “I thought so.” Over his shoulder, a bolt of lightning cut through the sky as God’s shutter went off, and the light above flickered but Bono didn’t seem phased. He just smiled, stepping forward until he was close enough to touch, to grab, to do anything that Edge could think of, and sometimes he was sure they both wondered. Pondered how the other would react, what they would say, do, think. How they would feel, and Edge had wondered about that so many times that the mere thought of it was enough to make his heartbeat pick up the pace.

He didn’t reach out and grab. He didn’t do anything but sit there as Bono leaned in close, smile straying as he asked, “Are you lonely, Edge?”

Yes, Edge thought, all the time. “It’s fine when Morleigh is here,” he said, though fine didn’t seem like the right word. “No, it’s great, great, but-”

“She’s not here right now.”

“No.”

“No,” Bono echoed. His hand was warm, damp against Edge’s skin, and when the smile returned it was with a vengeance. “I think about you a lot, all alone in this house of yours. I was thinking about it tonight as I listened to the rain-”

“I’m alright.”

“I’m sure you are.” Bono shook his head slightly, and his gaze didn't stray. “But I still think about you.”

There was that look in his eye that Edge recognized, and he could smell the electricity in the air now, catching in his throat and causing his heart to beat faster, and it wasn’t calming, not in the least, but Edge knew he could lose himself entirely, if only he were to stop dreaming. He could smell it, see it in blue eyes, and he had to change the subject.  
  



End file.
